


Power (Much like Freedom) Isn't Free

by Ethereal_Disaster



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesiac Stiles Stilinski, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Bar Owner Derek Hale, Bartender Derek Hale, Bartender Stiles Stilinski, Bartenders, Blood Magic, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dark Magic, Demons, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski are Roommates, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Helps Stiles Stilinski, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magic, Magic Revealed, Magical Accidents, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Memory Loss, Monster of the Week, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Pining Derek, Possession, Recovered Memories, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stiles Stilinski Helps Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Top Derek Hale, Top Stiles Stilinski, Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereal_Disaster/pseuds/Ethereal_Disaster
Summary: Stiles is magic and following an almost unwinnable battle with the baddie of the week, Stiles loses his memory. The pack must simultaneously juggle Stiles’ newfound powers, the previously mentioned baddie of the week, and Stiles’ sudden memory loss before the darkness consumes them all.“I think I like you.” Derek looked up from his book with a faux disinterested stare, a direct juxtaposition to the sharp thud in his chest. Stiles met his gaze, legs akimbo over the arm of the recliner.“I mean it,” Stiles continued, “I like you, you’re the only one that doesn’t give me… That look.”“That look?”Stiles flailed his hands in an indiscriminate gesture. “Yes, that look. You know the one. The one that says: ‘You should remember this.’ ‘What happened to you?’ ‘You aren’t the same.’”Derek turned his eyes back to his book. “You don’t seem that different to me.”Stiles’ eyes widened with surprise. “Yeah? How do you mean?”“You still talk too much.”
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Cora Hale/Isaac Lahey, Danny Mahealani/Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88





	1. Of Amnesia and Soot

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic and it's not beta(ed) so please be gentle.  
> Also, this story is non canon with some canon elements, its technically a future fic as it takes place after the events of teen wolf as a whole but I didn't want to add that to the tags. Stiles age range is around 23 for context.  
> *I will be uploading chapters every Thursday*
> 
> Stiles, in the wake of an explosion of his own making, forgets everything but his name. The Pack returns to the site of the battle to retrieve the body of their friend, only to find him alive but not completely whole.  
>   
> I'm gonna make a playlist for this fic- it's really the songs I took inspiration from while writing but some fit the chapters. I find I tend to vibe more with fics if I listen to music while reading, maybe you’re the same.  
> Song: Wyrd – Glass Animals  
> (Basically, the vibe of the song is what Stiles feels after the explosion and seconds before the explosion. If that makes sense.)

Stiles awoke to the feeling of mud and twigs mushed against his face. The cold and dampness gripped his skin like a vice and was the first sensation to truly remind him he was alive. Rising on his hands and knees, he took stock of himself. Ten fingers and ten toes, an agreeable discovery even as a persistent fog seemed to hang in the corners of his mind.  
He coughed, his throat constricting around the particles still floating in the air. Stiles lifted his gaze to the scene around him.  
“What the fuck?” He croaked. It looked as if a bomb had exploded around him, the forest was charred, wet, and blackened soot clung helplessly to the mangled trees despite the rainfall and in the middle of the crater, he sat.  
Stiles finally stood on wobbly legs and clawed at the small wet slope of mud surrounding him in vain. He was shaking, weak. He startled when he felt a trickle down his lip, his hand comes back smeared with blood before the black consumed him once more.  


Derek leaned heavily on a twisted and mangled tree, he winced as his cracked ribs shifted. He could see nothing, his eyes blinded by the blast. As his eyes slowly healed, Derek stood and the events of the past hour came back to him in vivid detail.  
_The pack stood at the edge of the preserve, their weapons at the ready. Derek gave them one last examination before hell could overtake them.  
Scott was to break off to the west with Kira, Lydia, and Jackson. Kira stood close to Scott, exchanging words so quietly that even he could not comprehend them. Jackson and Lydia were much the same, hanging onto precious words in the wake of what could prove to be a dangerous battle. Derek was to go east with Stiles, Isaac, and Cora. It had been odd at first, to find out that Isaac had indeed swooped in and took Derek’s estranged little sister to be his girlfriend, despite his initial protests but it was something Derek had learned to live with. Which meant he kept his judgment to himself often.  
Then there was Stiles. He had demanded to come, and Derek knew if he would have denied the stubborn brat that somehow, he would look over in the thick of battle and hear the unmistakable sound of a baseball bat meeting flesh. So there the brat stood, barbed wire bat leaning on his shoulder, his usually animated features set in an expression of determination and rage.  
Stiles looked up and Derek’s eyes met his for a second, before he could get distracted and once again order Stiles to stay put, Derek let loose a sharp whistle and the pack swiftly departed to their respective routes._

_It had all happened so fast, one moment a lone robed figure stood in the preserve. Grass rotting in a ten-foot radius under his feet. Derek and his squad held the flank, waiting for an opening once Scott’s team took the robed figures' attention. Then all hell broke loose. The earth shook and the figure sent a force of wind towards Scott’s team that sent them tumbling and then it turned to Derek, Stiles, Isaac, and Cora as if it knew of their presence all along. With a flick of a grizzly finger, all three were pulled forward and out of the bushes.  
The dark figure released Stiles, Isaac, and Cora from its ethereal pull but forced them to kneel as it brought Derek so close that he could smell the rot under the creature’s robes. It was at that moment that Derek had accepted his fate.  
Maybe this wasn’t a bad way to go, against an unbeatable foe while protecting his pack. Correction, his second chance at a pack. The first he had doomed… and the second he had merely failed.  
“Stop! Stop it, now! What do you want from us?”  
Stiles struggled against the hold and gnashed his teeth, looking as fearsome as any wolf. Derek couldn’t help but smile a little, even in the end Stiles was fearless. Perfect. More than he could ever wish for in a packmate. The robed creature chuckled with a raspy, grating voice before shoving its grotesque fist into Derek’s gut.  
After that… a piercing scream and blinding light._

“Derek! Over here!”  
Derek snapped out of his reverie and followed the shouts of his second in command.  
Scott stood at the edge of a crater, dragging a limp and bloodied Stiles out of the desecrated earth. Derek jolted into action rushing to the scene in front of him. Stiles laid on the flat ground, his nose and ears dripping blood. The other members soon joined upon waking up and hearing the commotion.  
“I- is he?” Scott stuttered.  
Derek homed in on Stiles’ heartbeat and grimaced. There was none. Derek fought the stinging heat pummeling his eye sockets. Maybe if he’d been stronger? Maybe if he’d locked Stiles to his father’s cruiser?  
Maybe all he would be left with now was maybes and what-ifs? Derek was used to that. More blood to stain his hands.  
“I’m sorry Scott,” Derek’s voice trembled, “He's-“ Stiles shifted and everyone froze. Derek’s heart hammered a thousand miles a minute as he settled onto his haunches beside the freckled human.  
“….Whaahappened?”  
Derek looked down at Stiles and reveled in his amber eyes. Alive. He was actually alive. Stiles looked up at him with a blank, almost childish expression.  
“Whoa...hey. Who’re you?”


	2. Let me have it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Thursdays and when I'm more overwhelmed I'll probably stick to just Thursday uploads but hey, enjoy this a little bit earlier than I anticipated.  
> Sorry, I'm not great at long chapters, I prefer many medium to small sized chapters.  
> Stiles and the gang take a trip to Deaton’s, revelations are made, and… copious lollipops are consumed?  
> Song: Panic- On an On

Deaton stood upright, tucking his flashlight-pen back into the breast pocket of his coat. He turned to address the group at large.  
“Stiles is completely fine- “Scott pointed at the figure sitting on the metal examination table sharply, interrupting the druid. “He EXPLODED! His face was covered in blood!”  
Scott trembled, most likely still in shock. Watching one’s best friend since preschool spontaneously explode couldn’t have been gentle on the psyche, if what the dude told Stiles was true but nevertheless Stiles sat, looking at the group of strangers looking at him looking back at them. Stiles swiped another lollipop from Deaton’s desk and waited for the commotion to die down.  
Stiles’ eyes wandered to the guy he saw when he woke up- Derek, his mind had reminded him and what a face to wake up to indeed. He would have tried to say more to the poor guy if he hadn’t looked so panicked. He didn’t even get to lay on the charm before the guy had him in what had to be the tightest bridal carry known to man.  
Even now the guy looked positively constipated, he avoided Stiles' gaze, sticking behind the group with a deep crinkle between his brows. Stiles’ fingers itched to smooth it down, he settled for twirling the lollipop in his mouth instead. 

“We need to focus on the facts here. That thing had us all restrained within seconds and whatever Stiles managed to do bought us time.” Lydia tapped a well-manicured nail against the table, driving her point home.  
“Lot of good that does us. He can’t remember a damn thing.” Cora crossed her arms over her chest. “And we still don’t know what it is or what it wants.”  
“We have time to figure that out now, don’t we?” Lydia glared daggers at Cora.  
“Hey so uh… what’s with the impromptu physical in a vet's office? I meant to ask but,” Stiles motioned to the dwindling jar of lollipops, “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”  
Everyone turned to stare at Stiles once again.  
“I mean it's weird, right? We’re in a vet’s office… I don’t remember much but I do know that people usually go to a hospital for this sort of situation.”  
The group shared a look, Derek stepped forward for the first time since arriving at Deaton’s.  
“You really don’t remember anything?” He asked, his eyes reflecting some complicated hidden emotion.  
“Nope.” Stiles pulled the lollipop from his mouth with an obnoxious pop. Derek rubbed at the crease between his brows. “I feel like… you should be more concerned about this.”  
Stiles swung his legs from the side of the table and stood, “I probably would if someone would explain what exactly is going on. Yeah, I exploded, I don’t remember it, I’m fine.”  
Jackson forced out a frustrated huff, he turned to Stiles and flashed his eyes as well as his teeth.  
Stiles stumbled backward looking panicked, “Jesus fucking christ, man what the fuck?” He shouted. Jackson, Cora, and Isaac snickered while Deaton attempted to help Stiles to his feet, recognizing his fear and muttering reassurances that fell on deaf ears.  
Derek growled at Jackson, flashing his eyes at him, opening his mouth to admonish the beta but before he could the chime of the front door broke through the commotion. Stiles had fled. 

Outside Stiles struggled with the Camaro door, willing it to unlock, he let out a frustrated breath and kicked the tire. Just as his toe made painful contact the whirr of unlocking doors sounded. He dropped his foot and let out a hoot in quick celebration. Hey, maybe the redhead- Lydia, was right, maybe he is magic.  
Stiles opened the door and went to duck inside only for a hand on his shoulder to halt his action. He turned to face Derek, who stood with a smug expression and the automatic key lock raised in his other hand, thumb resting on the unlock button.  
“Oh haha, listen dude I really don’t want trouble, I don’t know what you are, but I really need to go.” Stiles shuffled nervously, the night's events and dwindling adrenaline finally starting to take hold.  
“Where exactly are you gonna go, Stiles?”  
Stiles’ mouth snapped shut and he looked apprehensive. “I don’t know. I don’t know where I live…” fatigue started to show on Stiles’ face. “…I don’t remember my family. If I have one.”  
Derek gave Stiles’ shoulder a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry… about Jackson.” He finished awkwardly. “Not used to saying that, huh?” Stiles teased.  
Derek almost smiled, or at least Stiles thought so, it was dark out after all. Derek removed his hand quickly, leaving Stiles momentarily confused.  
The bell above the office door gave a sharp ring, Scott emerged looking worried, his expression lifted when he saw Stiles still standing in the parking lot.  
“Jackson’s such a fucking dick.” Scott sighed as he came closer.  
“I’ve gathered, thanks… so what exactly are all of you?” Stiles rested against the side of the Camaro, daring Derek to say something about it. His brow ticked upward but nothing more, suddenly choosing to focus on Scott.  
Scott had the decency to look ashamed as he scratched the back of his head. “Yeah… I guess we didn’t think about the whole reveal since you’ve known for so long, huh, we’re werewolves... well, not all of us. Lydia is a banshee, Jackson was a kanima before we broke the curse and he became a werewolf like us, my girlfriend Kira is a kitsune” Scott put a finger to his chin, “Then there's Malia, she isn’t here but she's a werecoyote, and Danny... he’s human like you are. Or were.”  
Stiles gaped at Scott for a moment, attempting to take it all in despite the less-than-ideal post-explosion brain function going on.  
“Oh! And we have an Alpha.” Scott looked at Derek with a tight smile, Stiles could guess those two have more than a few issues to iron out. Scott turned his attention to Stiles, “And you’re my best friend, you usually help with research.”  
The door dings as everyone starts to file out of the clinic.  
“Well this has been… a lot… but I really need to find somewhere to sleep so if you don’t mind-“ Stiles rounded the Camaro, opening the passenger side door.  
“You’re staying at the loft.” Derek said gruffly.  
“What the hell man? He should stay at my apartment,” Scott glared daggers at Derek, “He’s MY best friend, I can fill him in on everything!”  
Stiles rolled his eyes and slapped his hand against the inside of the door. "From where I'm standing I don't know any of you! Don't I live somewhere?" Derek and the pack shared a look. "You've been living with Derek at the loft for the last seven months anyway." Lydia looked done with the conversation, she started filing her nails next to a suitably cowed looking Jackson. "I'm just saying we might be able to jog his memory faster if he just stayed with me and Kira for now." Scott persisted. Stiles rolled his eyes. To say he wasn't a fan of being treated like a piece of meat was an understatement. So far his impression of the pack was subpar at best, other than maybe Derek. His stomach flipped at the thought of them having lived together. Why? If Scott was supposed to be his "best friend" why didn't he live with him? Stiles looked at Derek confused, trying to convey the question without voicing it to the group, Derek avoided his eyes. Lydia smirked from behind Derek's back in a way that said she and Stiles would be having a long conversation in the near future. Deaton stood at the front door; his hands clasped behind his back watching the exchange.  
“I agree with Derek. As of now, we do not know where the creature is or how unstable Stiles' power is. It would be best if Stiles stayed with the Alpha for now.”  
Scott gave Derek a last withering glare. “Fine.”  
Derek rolled his eyes. “Everyone should pair up tonight, stay together in case something happens. But...we can’t take Stiles to his father like this.”  
“Why not?” Stiles looked back and forth between the others over the hood of the car.  
Isaac surprisingly spoke up first, “It's complicated, we need to fill him in first.”  
The group nodded solemn expressions painted across all their faces. Stiles threw his hands up and ducked into the passenger seat. “Whatever let’s go.”  
Derek sighed and watched the pack pair off and depart in their vehicles safely. Deaton nodded at the alpha and disappeared into the clinic. Derek swiped a weary hand across his face. He told himself he only wanted Stiles close because of the potential danger to himself and others. Why did it feel like he was lying to himself?  
Frustrated, Derek wrenched the drivers' side door open and settled into the seat. He glanced to his right. Stiles was slumped over in the seat; fast asleep with a bright red lollipop handing from his mouth. Derek stared for longer than was probably necessary, listening to the comforting sound of Stiles' heart beating slowly with sleep. He tore his eyes away as the Camaro rumbled to life.


	3. Nothing but History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (It's literally just fluff to nail down plot, I'm sorry but I'm not)
> 
> Derek reminisces on his and Stiles' history and Stiles' magic ruins a perfectly good morning.  
> Song: Nothing but History - Gemini Club

Derek stared into Stiles’ milky, lifeless eyes. He tried to move but found himself paralyzed; he tried to scream but it was muffled. He watched as Stiles’ bloodied lips moved but it sounded like he was in a tunnel, fading away slowly.   
‘Derek’ the faint echo reverberated in his ears. Blood, wet and tacky clung to his skin as the forest burned around them. Ash and soot clung in his throat and obscured Stiles’ face.   
‘Wake up’ Stiles' lips sounded out in a mantra. 

Derek jolted awake. He lifted his hand to his cheek, his hand coming back wet with tears. Derek gave a heavy sigh the nightmares were always a constant companion in his life, less so since Stiles decided to move in but now… now it was different.  
Stiles moved in seven months ago and it all started when Stiles moved back from Sacramento two years ago. He’d tried to live with his father, but Noah Stilinski had reservations about Stiles dropping out of college and moving back to Beacon Hills. He assumed his son was doing it out of some duty to the pack when in reality the natural world was just hard to deal with, knowing the things that he knew.   
Derek could understand that completely, not knowing how to fully integrate with a society blissfully ignorant about the monsters that went bump in the night. Noah just wanted to keep him safe, Stiles knew that but when Stiles decided to take it a step further and work with Derek and Cora at the bar Derek owned downtown instead of taking online classes, Stiles was forced to move out; the tension at home becoming far too much to handle.   
Stiles moved into a run-down apartment complex a block away from the bar for almost two years but following a fae incident that place had burned to the ground in spectacular fashion.   
Stiles lamented never getting his security deposit back one night while cleaning up the bar and Derek just blurted it out, “I have a spare room.”   
He did not know what possessed him to do it. Stiles had been talking about moving in with Kira and Scott but still hadn’t taken the steps to do it so Derek just… offered. Seven months of Stiles in his space talking constantly. Somehow Derek thought it would have been more annoying than it was. Derek never considered himself a lonely person but the thought of Stiles moving out made an uncomfortable knot grow in his stomach.  
Now Stiles didn’t remember any of it.   
Derek rose to his feet and made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. Once finished, he stood at the sink, gripping the sides, his head bowed. 

_“I- I’ve been thinking…” Stiles had said after last week's pack dinner. Everyone had left. Stiles and Derek washing dishes side by side. The smell of dawn dish soap and cinnamon setting Derek’s mind at ease.  
“Must have been hard for you,” Derek smirked. Stiles had thrown his head back and laughed, bubbles floating in the air like a halo around his head. The air felt as if it had been punched out of Derek’s lungs, he tried not to stare.  
“I was thinking… what if I didn’t move out?”  
Derek shrugged, happy Stiles couldn’t hear his dumb heart flip over itself. “Whatever you want.”  
Stiles sat the plate down in the sink and froze. “Whatever I want???”   
Derek turned to Stiles fully, wiping off his hands with the dishrag. He quirked his brow. Time seemed to slow, Stiles had smirked and placed his hand against Derek’s cheek.  
“You really shouldn’t have said that.” Stiles had teased. Their noses had brushed. Then the piercing sound of the phone ringing sent them both jumping back as if they’d been burned.   
“Yeah… okay, Lydia.” Derek watched Stiles on the phone, wringing the dishtowel in his hands. Stiles hung up and, at that moment, he looked so tired.   
“There’s a body.” _

Derek splashed water on his face. The icy water a small reprieve from the traitorous memories plaguing his mind.  
Raising his head from the towel Derek caught a familiar scent in the air. Bacon. His stomach rumbled loudly and after hastily throwing on some sweats he made his way downstairs.

Stiles whistled quietly to himself and swiftly dodged the grease spitting at him. He had woken up in an unfamiliar bed to his stomach demanding food. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever been this hungry in his life and if he had he probably wouldn’t have been able to remember it. As he exited his room into the spacious den of the loft his eyes met the kitchen and he thought it was the least he could do for his new housemate (and himself) if he made a little breakfast.   
A little turned into a lot fast. Stiles had made pancakes, a literal mountain of bacon, sausage, eggs, and biscuits for good measure. He almost felt bad for cleaning out Derek’s fridge but that was a lie, he was absolutely famished. It felt as if a gaping wormhole had taken residence right in his stomach.   
Stiles lowered the heat on the stove and a creak coming from the stairs took his attention. His head whipped around, and he was met by what had to be the holiest sight known to man.   
Derek was standing on the stairs with a glorious case of bedhead and the most delectable abs this side of the tri-state area, on display. Stiles’ mouth gaped.   
Just at that moment, the kitchen light started to mount in brightness until it burst, sending glass in every direction.   
“Oh my god.” Stiles flinched, violently jerked back to earth and away from his sinful thoughts.   
Derek took the steps two at a time, coming to stand under the overhead light. The bulb was completely shattered. He turned his attention to Stiles, smelling the faint scent of blood.   
“Whoa, hey there big guy. What are you-?” Derek pulled Stiles away from the kitchen. “Fuck, ow ow.” Stiles hobbled and landed in one of the kitchen chairs. Derek kneeled and lifted Stiles’ foot, a piece of glass embedded in the flesh between his toes. Derek plucked it free and stood.   
“Don’t move.”  
“I’m not a helpless child you know.”   
Derek didn’t dignify the outburst with a response, making his way to the first-floor bathroom.  
Stiles made a face at Derek’s retreating form. Stiles looked up at the bulb with wonder. Shit like that didn’t just happen, right? Unstable magic maybe. Well… he had unstable magic, or at least that’s how Deaton had said it last night.  
Derek returned with a small first aid kit and began the arduous process of disinfecting the cut on Stiles’ foot.   
“Did I just do that?” Stiles motioned to the light. Derek stood, apparently satisfied with his work.  
Derek tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing the bulb. “It's possible, what were you thinking about?”  
Stiles flushed from the neck up. “uh,” He looked at the simmering bacon, “food? Yeah! I was thinking about how hungry I am. Speaking of which, tada!” Stiles threw his arms out and even added jazz hands for emphasis, “I made food!”   
As if to add icing to the shit Sunday that was his morning so far; out of Stiles’ fingertips shot multiple arcs of electricity, all of which went straight to the breakfast smorgasbord ala Stilinski and obliterated it. Food debris rained down on both Derek and Stiles in a very depressing fashion.  
“Eh... nevermind.” Stiles sighed and put his head in his hands, can’t remember his own life, can’t cook, and blessed with magical power but unable to use it. God, why did he have to feel so fucking useless? Stiles fought back the tears prickling at his eyes.  
Stiles heard a loud snort and removed his hands from his eyes, looking up at Derek from his self-imposed seat of despair. For the second time that morning, Stiles was rendered speechless. Derek was practically shaking with laughter, eggs hanging from his unkempt hair. His head was thrown back.   
Stiles found himself laughing too. Yeah, it was a shitty morning but when faced with those bunny teeth and that laugh… Stiles was tempted to find a way to replicate this morning as many times as possible just for that sight alone. 

Stiles ended up cleaning the kitchen while Derek ordered early morning pizza. They ate in the living room as the sun started to spill through the windows.  
Stiles wiped his hands upon his pants after finishing his sixth piece of extra deep-dish pizza, much to the chagrin of Derek.   
“What? Something on my face?” Stiles asked.  
Derek threw napkins in Stiles’ general direction, “Yes and I think I’ve figured out why you’re so hungry.”  
Stiles stared at Derek, wiping the sauce from his face. “Yeah?”  
“I texted Deaton and he said if you’re expelling magic then you need to replenish that energy somehow.” Derek motioned to Stiles as he picked up the seventh piece.   
“Makes sense.” Stiles talked around a mouthful of cheesy greasy goodness, “So, I’ve been staying here for seven months?”  
Derek blanched at the subject change. “Yeah…”  
“Why didn’t you say anything before.” Stiles rested his feet on the coffee table despite Derek’s sharp glare.  
“Because… I thought- under the circumstances, you may want to remember instead of having us tell you everything.”   
Stiles nodded, it made sense. They could be telling him anything about his life, he didn’t know any better, he was in a vulnerable position. He sat down his half-finished piece of pizza.   
“Also, if we focus on trying to nail down this magic you have now maybe you can remember easier or make yourself remember.” Derek attempted to steer the conversation back to safer topics.   
“Got it. Learn the magic, magic back my memories style. So… when do we start?”


	4. God don't let me lose my mind...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has some issues narrowing down what kind of magic he should work on and does what he does best; he gets into a little bit of trouble. Meanwhile, a dark shadow continues to loom over Beacon Hills.   
> Song: Trouble – Cage The Elephant

The back of Stiles’ neck itched; he knew they were all watching him, seeing if he’d do something. Honestly, it was more than a bit unnerving. He didn’t know much about himself, true, but he knew he wasn’t used to being at the center of such scrutiny. 

Stiles let his mind drift. That morning's epic breakfast had been a bust, but Derek hadn’t seemed too put off by it. He was intrigued by the guy. Sure, he was hot, like burning hot but there was something else there. The dude didn’t say much on the drive to Deaton’s but Stiles couldn’t help but feel comfortable around him. The others seemed to stare with this look. It was a look of loss and longing as if they had lost something important with little hope of getting it back.

If he was candid with himself that look they gave him pissed him off. They were faceless strangers to him. HE had lost everything. His memory and by extension his life if he really stretched into that train of thought. 

Stiles let out a slow breath, trying to focus back on the task at hand. He was sat in the same examination room from the night before. At a _vet's office._ How that was strange and ironic to only him, he did not know. A candle was sitting in front of him. Deaton mentioned in order to narrow down what magic he could use, they had to try some basic spells. The first they started with was a simple bowl of water and a pitcher. Stiles was supposed to levitate the pitcher and pour the water into the bowl. Simple, right? Wrong. 

After almost an hour of staring said bowl and pitcher down, Jackson had thrown up his hands and exclaimed that the whole endeavor was a useless waste of time. Stiles, startled by the sudden movement, almost jumped out of his seat. Somehow the bowl and pitcher had reacted to his fear and exploded, sending water careening into Jackson. 

Stiles tried to hold back his laugher at seeing Jackson completely drenched from head to toe, he really tried. He must have let something slip because he was suddenly faced with a fuming werewolf heading straight for him. “You’re dead, Stilinski.” He growled.  
Before he could get any closer a leather-clad arm shot out and halted Jackson’s advance.   
“Out. Now.” Derek flashed his eyes at the beta. He seemed to hesitate for a second before yielding to the alpha. 

After that catastrophe of a spell, Deaton wanted to try another method, lighting a candle with Stiles’ mind. That idea had seemed to make Derek squirm a little, Stiles decided to file that reaction for later. So far every time Stiles used magic it ended in an explosion of some form. He was practically vibrating in his seat, suddenly afraid of burning the whole place to the ground.  
Stiles could feel sweat beading on his forehead, zeroing in on the wick of the candle. Suddenly a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. Stiles’ startled out of his train of thought, physically jumping from his seat this time. Scott stood back, his hand still hovering in the air, the tip of his hoodie sleeve singed and smoking. 

Stiles’ heart pounded in his chest. He looked at everyone around him. Their hands were up and they looked worried. Like with one move they would spook a scared animal. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. He could feel panic crawling up his throat. He needed to get out, the room was crowded. Strange faces expecting something he couldn’t give. 

Stiles’ mind raced. He knew he was acting irrationally but he couldn’t help it. This whole situation was fucked. He wanted to remember, he wanted to control himself, he wanted to help these people calling themselves his friends, but it was too much. He felt dread settle in his stomach like a lead weight.   
Derek took a hesitant step forward, his hands up, palms out. “Stiles..”   
He didn’t wait to hear what Derek had to say, as the words left his lips Stiles was already halfway out the front door. The overhead bell giving a shrill, forlorn ring.

Derek rushed to the door.  
“Don’t.” Deaton broke the silence.  
Derek turned to face the druid, his jaw tight and his fist clenched. Scott looked to Deaton. “Are you serious? Did you see him? We have to go after him!”  
Lydia stood behind the table, staring at the door with haunted eyes. “Did you see his eyes?”   
Everyone turned to her with grim expressions on their faces.   
“They were black,” Derek said through bared teeth. “Like when-“   
“The Nogitsune.” Scott breathed.   
Deaton slammed a large book onto the table, the unlit candle skittering to the floor. The pack jolted at the sudden sound, turning their attention to the druid.   
“I have a feeling we’ve been looking in all the wrong places,” Deaton explained, “Magic can be born from magic and if a seed is left to its own devices”-  
“…It will grow.” Lydia finished. 

Stiles shoved his hands into his hoodie. He knew he should have worn extra layers. The air was crisp and the wind bit into his skin even with his hood pulled over his head. He walked with no destination in mind as if he could even think of one in this state. He sighed, kicking at a stray pebble on the sidewalk.   
**“Mieczyslaw.”**  
Stiles almost fell on his ass. A voice, loud and insistent reverberated between his ears. He looked to the left and found only street signs and small businesses across the road, people milling about without a care in the world. He looked to his right and glimpsed upon an alleyway, dark as pitch. A pebble rolled back to him from the shadows and came to tap against the toe of his shoe.   
**“Mieczyslaw.”**  
Stiles squinted into the darkness, hoping to see a figure or something. What he really wanted was to turn back and run to the clinic but instead, he stood rooted to the spot, transfixed.   
He couldn't escape if he tried, the only way he could go was forward.


End file.
